


An Act of Fearful Symmetry

by neednot



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Season 2, for scully's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9902000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neednot/pseuds/neednot
Summary: “We’re going for a drive,” he said.“To where?” she asked.“To the end of the world.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kateyes224](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyes224/gifts).



_“I didn’t forget your birthday this year, did I Scully?”_

Truth is she wanted him to. Truth is it was her first birthday since her father died and all she wanted was to forget, to spend a nice quiet evening at home and maybe talk to her mother and maybe call her sister so the Scullys can all pretend it’s not their first real family event without him.

She had planned it that way. When he asked if she had plans she vaguely mentioned getting dinner with Maggie. What she didn’t tell him was dinner was Chinese takeout on her couch while making a long-distance call to her mother and putting the phone on speaker.

And he nodded, and she thought that was the end of it.

He showed up outside her apartment around 11, threw rocks at her windows like a teenage boy, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re going to wake the whole complex,” she called through an open window, but she felt giddy. She felt reckless and sixteen and maybe she wanted him to wake the entire complex.

“Come down then so I’ll stop,” he said.

She slipped into a beaten-up pair of tennis shoes she kept by the door, threw a hoodie on over her t-shirt. February had brought with it a gust of warm temperatures, so unusual for this time of year.

She wondered what he would say about it.

He stood on her sidewalk, grin splitting his boyish face, keys glinting in his hand.

“We’re going for a drive,” he said.

“To where?” she asked.

“To the end of the world.”

She didn’t argue with him. The world could end tonight on her birthday, an act of fearful symmetry, and she wouldn’t care.

“Where’d you park?” she asked.

“Around back.”

She followed him (don’tgazeathimscullydon’tdoit) around back to the parking lot, scanning it for his car. All she saw was hers, and Mrs. Mulaney’s Honda, and a rusted blue truck in the far corner.

They started towards the truck.

“Oh Mulder, you’re kidding,” she said. “Where’d you even get this?”

“Borrowed it from a family friend down in North Carolina,” he said, adopting an awful Southern accent.

“I didn’t know you knew how to drive stick,” she said as she climbed in, knowing he was laughing at her on the other side as she practically jumped into the seat.

“I learned yesterday,” he said, and he beamed at her and he was so earnest she wanted to take his face in her hands and kiss him, consequences be damned.

They lurched out of the parking lot and down the street, Scully gripping the door handle, white-knuckled.

They drove out of DC, past buildings and late-night neon, past people staggering home from parties, meandering cacophony of late-night Washington.

She leaned her head against the window. At some point she dozed off, jerking awake when the truck went over a pothole, her head slamming against the glass.

“Shit,” she muttered, rubbing her temple, and Mulder glanced over at her.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

(yes. yes, she does.)

She didn’t respond.

“We’re almost there,” he said, and she glanced around. They’re on a dirt road, miles from anywhere she recognizes.

“So this is why you had to borrow a truck.”

“It’s not the only reason.”

“You didn’t bring me out here to hunt for UFOs, did you?” she asked, only half-joking, because he would.

“That’s what we’re doing for my birthday,” he said. Without warning he threw the truck into park, and she lurched forward.

“We’re here.”

“I’m going to have bruises from this tomorrow,” she muttered as she got out of the truck, rubbing her shoulder.

(She wants bruises from other activities with him, but she doesn’t say it.)

“Close your eyes, Scully,” he called from the other side of the truck, and she folded her arms over her chest.

“Mulder…”

“Humor me,” he said, and she sighed but she closed them. She tuned into her other senses, the creak of the truck bed as he climbed in and out of it, the opening and closing of the doors.

“Can I open them now?” she asked after what felt like an eternity of silence.

“Yes,” he said, and his voice was right by her ear and she shivered, turning around. He was right in front of her, her gaze on his chest, and she tilted her chin up.

“Hi,” she said, shy and girlish. Christ, she was sixteen again.

But that was what he did to her.

“Hi,” he replied, and her heart pounded and she thought _nownownowkissme_. “Come on.”

He stepped away from her and she felt it ache in her chest. She watched as he climbed into the truck bed, offering her a hand once he was in.

She let him. Never mind that she had spent her teenage years climbing in and out of truck beds, that she knew her way around one. She took his hand and let him pull her up, if only to get that closeness to him again.

And then she gasped.

“Mulder…”

“Like it?”

He had set up pillows. Blankets. There were thermoses of something she half-prayed was alcoholic but knowing him was probably hot chocolate. There was a star chart taking up half the truck bed, and (how had she missed this?), a balloon tied to the luggage rack.

“Come sit down,” he said, and he tugged on her hand suddenly and she felt herself losing her balance, falling into him—

“ _Mulder_ —”

They went down, and she was grateful to land on him as the truck rattled with their combined weight and she hit his chest with an “Oof.” And she was aware of his nearness for the second time that night, and she knew she wouldn’t be the one to pull away. 

“You okay?” she asked, and he groaned. “Mulder–you’re not bleeding, are you? Do I need to look at anything?” 

“I’m fine,” he said, and he actually grinned at her. “I have a medical doctor around.” 

“Oh shut up,” she said. 

She couldn’t stop looking at him. And when he leaned in and kissed her, it felt right, like the natural progression of things. The world didn’t end. It couldn’t. But Fox Mulder’s lips on hers were a new kind of birth, a new kind of awakening, an act of fearful symmetry.


End file.
